Leaned up against a wall, cig in hand, Brian stares up at a huge neon advertisement barking out into the city.
"SEVEN MINUTES OR A REFUND! THAT'S THE TRAUMA TEAM GURANTEE!!"
He looks down at his lit cigarette before a glance at his father's urn... he takes another drag. He gently touches the bandage on his nose... jolting in pain aggravated.
He takes a deep breath... slowly exhaling with the back of his head planted on the wall... a haze of melancholy shrouding his jaded emotions... buried in a perpetual cycle of loss. His mind flashes back to the woman who pointed iron at him in his backyard.
He hears the sound of her clicking the safety off... that deep gasp when he startled her... that look on her face... he just can't get that look on her face out of his head. It's almost as if he felt how dangerous she was... but in that moment, she was at her most vulnerable. The contrast stuck in his head like a faulty, overworked braindance chip playing on a loop. Arroyo and Rancho aren't often home to much corpo antics. Whoever she was... she was a long way from home.
"AYE CHOOM!" Graves yells out walking towards him, snapping him out of his thought loop. "You ready? Got a little time, lets roll."
The pair walk up the crowded block... people littered the street as much as trash did. Their imposing frames catch glances from bystanders with nowhere to go... nowhere to be. Mulling around in a rat race for fleeting pleasure and scraps of scop. They hop into a parked all black Colby Butte and speed off. Listening to some Royal Blue radio, the pair cruise the streets of NC with the mellow hum of the engine.
Neon lights and Friday night firefights... the lifeblood of the city flows through the activities of it's inhabitants. Night citizens run the streets flatlining rivals... claiming territory and klepping desirables. Slamming drugs and slinging chrome with no real intention to see tomorrow. Meanwhile the ascended elite meticulously tamper with the human genome generation after generation... constantly pushing the limits of weaving metal and meat. Unbothered by repercussion... the ramifications of this constantly escalating arms race even has the likes of them careening toward the edge. Hopelessly obsessed with the power structures they've forged through corporate corruption and brutal disregard. Sinking their claws deeper and deeper into the ever changing landscape destine to slip from their grasp. This city is home to them all.
Graves lowers the music a bit.
"Listen man... been meanin' to ask-"
"-You're always askin' somethin."
"Hey, y'know i'm used to you bein' the one with the answers anyway. Steerin' the ship's never been my forte. Besides... how the fuck else would i learn huh? hahaha"
"Maybe try listenin' sometime." Brian mutters watching the busy streets drift by.
"Hahaha! Maybe... but hey, listen... been meanin' to ask for a while now. Y'know since uh... everytime I try to serve you up a dunk you walk away." Graves claims looking over at him.
A brief pause takes over the interior of the Butte... he doesn't respond. Graves continues.
"Know you haven't... y'know... been in the game for a while... I just... was wonderin... y'know, why? I mean there's kinda been-"
"-You already know why."
"B... you know just as well as i do there's nothin' you coulda did about that. Things just got outta hand overtime... all the layers... moving parts... she pushed too hard... was in way over her head... we all were... gotta let that shit go choomba... you know she'd want you to."
"...nothing i could do about that huh..." Brian mutters to himself under his breath.. his gaze fixed on the street.
The two share some somber silence together before Graves turns the music back up.
Later in the evening, as the sun begins to turn in for the night, so do the straight and narrows of NC. Clocking out after a double shift and making it home with all of your limbs was often a well earned victory in itself. Daughter's home without being kidnapped by gang goons... wife's stable and happily cooking dinner with her freshly chipped neuroimplants... stabilizing her parkinsons... a valued gift from all that corpo 'volunteer' work. Nevermind what tomorrow may have in store for you... when you step back out that door... you do so with an understanding... that the edge is always waiting for you just a few steps away. One wrong turn from daughter on the way home... one wrong dosage of nuero-suppressants from wife. Life... happiness... looms in the most momentary of fleeting stasis... and fought for tooth and nail.
Brian sat in Graves' car just outside his apartment complex finishes a smoke... flicking it out of the window onto the trash littered pavement.
Looking out into the street, there's endless activity going on with the locals at a steady pace regardless of the time of day. Street networking for that next gem of information, transactions being done, shouting matches taking place, music blasting, graffiti being hit up, drugs being slammed. He sits wondering where these people even live... do they even sleep? With all this energy they expend... is the end result even really worth it? Is life just an arbitrary chase for the things you desire? Even if it means going right over the edge? What are they exactly doing with their lives...? To what end..? Do they even care...? The sound of the trucks side panel being opened snaps him out of his thoughts. It slams closed and the driver side door flys open, Graves hops in. "Alright. Let's go."
The pair drive as the evening sunset concludes making it harder to see. However the darkness is short lived... giving way to the blooming neon lights of Night City. That notorious, glowing allure that draws people in via some of the most profound... inexplainable sensations and experiences. For some, an opportunity to escape... to transform themselves before their very own eyes... for others... an inescapable cage of light... fixated on revealing to you your true self... before driving you to your knees.
"So is it time for you to finally tell me what were doin' or am i supposed to just wing this one." Brian asks.
"Quick trade choom! You know how I rizzoll!!"
"Y'know, you bein' a six foot eight ex-animal with gorilla arms honestly makes me think you'd be workin' huscle for some corpo gonk... not still out here in Santo doin'... 'quick trades'."
"And you, bein' an equally six foot six tall ex- uhhmm..." Graves glances at Brian who glances back at him... he looks forward again. "uhhhmm...yeah, I would be thinkin' you'd be out of Santo by now yourself but it is what it is y'know? And besides, i klepped these arms remember?" He says raising a balled fist. "You were there, was a hell of a night!"
Brian shifts subject "Who are we doin' this 'quick trade' with?Is it Abby again?"
"Abby? Ha... she's been outta the picture for a while now. Nah, this is a new contact i got in good with through Marcus. Shit... choom's buyin' big!"
"Marcus...? Hes still around..? His contacts've always been shit... always one step from either a jail cell or some Maelstrom ganger's trunk."
"Its networking B! Marcus has an in on a distributor who linked me up with this guy we're headed tooo! Cmon, you know how all this shit works-"
"-I'm not a merc, Graves." Brian snap responds in monotone... watching the vibrant city lights flicker by.
"RIIIIGHT! YOU'RE A SCOP DOG SALESMAN! REAL UPSTANDING NIGHT CITIZEN RIGHT B? Tch, gimme a break."
"What's he buyin?"
"You know... a little bit of this... little bit of that. Little bit of all of it really."
Brian gives him a stern look that Graves is all too familiar with. He catches it... doing a double take before looking back at the road and clearing his throat. "Syn, lace... and glitter."
"WHAT!?"
"Mostly glitter."
"Where the fuck did you get Synthetic Coke? And Black Lace? Who the hell are we doin' biz with?!"
"Choombatta... relax... no volume here... just a sample package to start a hopefully long and... fruitful business relationship."
"Did you bring iron?" Brian asks with angst
"Course i brought iron... you?"
Brian quickly looks back out the window contemplating. "No..." He mutters regretfully
"Damn, still not carrying huh? In Arroyo? You're psycho choom."
"Gimme yours." Brian quickly reaches over and grabs Graves' Lexington... checking the magazine and chamber.
"What the- why..?"
"You've got those gorilla arms, you'll be fine... besides... easy scratch right?"